


Past Lives

by lilstrawbaby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, Baron Samedi - Freeform, Children, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Love, Lovers, Maman Brigitte, Marriage, Mental Breakdown, Past Lives, Possession, Prostitution, Psychotropic Drugs, Soulmates, vodou/voodoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilstrawbaby/pseuds/lilstrawbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bedelia and Hannibal have old souls. How often have their paths crossed in past lives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pennsylvania

She attended school at the convent, finding the cloistered life of the Benedictines soothing to her soul. The outside world so often overwhelmed her and that was the reason her parents sent her to the convent. It had hurt her initially, being sent away because she was considered an embarrassment to her high society parents, but she quickly found herself grateful she wasn't sent to an asylum, a much more common practice. The nuns were kind to her, unlike their reputation, finding her a sweet-natured child who was eager to please and quick to help wherever she could.

As she approached the end of her education, she began speaking with the nuns about her future. Options for females were few-marriage, teaching or becoming a novitiate of their order were her safest choices, and given her malady, no one feared her running away to throw herself to ruination. To everyone's pleasure, she decided to stay with the order, everyone was in agreement that it was the best place for her.

She was prepared to take her vows. The ceremony was weeks away. And then a wounded man was left on their doorstep. She was training with Sister Theodora on the nursing ward when he was brought in. They cut away his dirty clothes, picked the musket out of his shoulder, tended the wound, and gave him a sponge bath. She studied the man's face, finding, much to her surprise, he was a handsome man despite the stubble and bruises. She hoped the Sister didn't notice her checking the man out, it would be incredibly embarrassing and would not look good for a woman preparing to take her final vows to God. He was obviously a bad man, he had been beaten and shot. She repeated this mantra to herself to sober her thoughts and her expression.

"I'll take first watch, child," Theodora said in her soft voice. "I'll wake you when it's your turn."

"Yes, Sister."

*****

At three am, Theodora gently shook her shoulder. "Wake up, child. It's your turn to keep an eye on our patient."

"Yes sister," she answered sleepily and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She quickly dressed her in novice habit and asked, "Sister? Are there any special instructions?"

"Keep your wits about you, my dear. We don't know what this man has been through or who he is. If he wakes, come for me immediately. Don't engage him in conversation outside of health questions or his pain level. If you need assistance, call out to Sister Mary Catherine for help, she'll be in the office for safety's sake."

"Should I sit with him, Sister?"

"No, sit by the door unless he wakes, then tend to him as you would any patient."

"Yes, Sister."

The older nun smiled as the girl scurried from her room to the hospital. Hair like sunshine, eyes as blue as the sea, and the girl had no idea how beautiful she was. And because of her fears, she would never realize her full potential. With a sigh, she reminded herself that God has his reasons for everything, and perhaps bringing her sweet, tender heart to brighten the dark stone walls of the convent was the Lord's plan for her. Her pure spirit had certainly been the highlight of Theodora's life for the last six years. She closed the door to the young woman's bedroom and retired to her own.

*****

She went about her routine as usual. She checked on all of the patients, checking blood pressure and temperatures as needed, giving medications if required. When she had completed her rounds, she took a seat at the small desk across the room, looking over charts and making notations. A soft groan caught her attention and she rose, cautiously approaching her new patient's bed.

"Hello," he said in a gravelly voice. It was his musical accent that made her step closer, curious about his man. "Where am I?"

"You're in a convent, sir. You were left on our doorstep, beaten and a musket in your shoulder. How do you feel?"

"Like hell, actually," he responded, his tone playful. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"This is what we do, sir. May I ask your name, so I can put it in your chart?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Will you at least give me a first name? It feels rude to not call you by a name, as if I'm not giving you my best effort."

He stared at her for a moment, surprised by her concern for him. No one had worried about him in such a manner, not in a very long time. "You may call me Hannibal."

"Thank you, Hannibal." She beamed at him, completely unaware of her radiance.

"And your name, Sister?"

She blushed a soft pink and said, "I'm not a nun yet, Hannibal. I'm still a Postulant."

He reached out to touch her hand and she shied away with a fearful look in her eyes. "I do not wish to harm you."

"No, I-I didn't mean to insinuate that you would. I simply do not like to be touched."

"By anyone or by me?"

"I must be quite comfortable with a person to accept their touch. I am not comfortable with you, you could be dangerous."

"I am no danger you to, szerelmem. You haven't told me your name. Do you not wish me to know it?"

"I am sorry, that's terribly rude of me. My Christian name is Bedelia."

"Have you chosen your new name?"

"I do not choose it, it is given to me."

"Have they told you their selection for you?"

"No, not until the day I take my vows." She raised an eyebrow and asked, "Szerelmem, I don't recognize it. What language is it?"

"Hungarian."

"Is that where you hail from? Your accent is very exotic, one I have never heard before."

"It is."

"What brings you to Pennsylvania, Hannibal?"

"A fresh start."

"Well, I hope it gets better going forward. I should let you rest now. Are you in any pain?"

"Nothing I can't handle. I would like to talk to you some more, though."

"I've already spoken to you more than I should," she murmured, her eyes lowered in shame.

"You aren't bothering me," he blurted out, smiling.

"That is good to know. But we know nothing about you or how you came to be injured."

"There isn't much to know. I came to this country to start anew, for another chance. Not everyone likes the idea of foreigners in their country."

"I don't understand that thinking at all. We are all technically foreigners in this land. Our people are not native, they came here for the exact same reasons people still come here."

"That was very well said, Bedelia. And thank you for your open-mindedness."

"There is no need, Hannibal. It's not a matter of an open mind, but an open heart." She smiled sweetly and laid a cool hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. "You really should sleep now. You won't get better if you don't get some rest."

He gave her an honest smile in return, enchanted by her sweetness and purity. It was rare thing for him to be taken with anyone who couldn't further his agenda, but there was something about her that called out to him, made him want to try to be a better man than he was. He wasn't a respecter of other people's boundaries, but when she set hers, he felt compelled to honor them. For the time being anyway.

*****

Hannibal quickly became a favorite patient on the ward. He was charming and personable, even to the crustiest nuns who had no use for such things. He did not develop any fever or infection, his wounds were healing beautifully, all of which was attributed to young Bedelia for her care and concern for her very first solo patient. The nuns in the hospital were amused by her dedication, knowing the dew would soon be off the rose when giving care would become old hat.

Sweet Bedelia had confided in Sister Theodora about Hannibal and his story. She admitted she didn't know the entire story about Hannibal's injuries, but believed that he was attacked by men who hated the idea of a "foreigner" in their town. It pleased her that the Sister was as sympathetic as she was to his plight and wanted to help set him on a path in his new life. For the first time, Bedelia asked something of them, a favor.

"I know you have a question, child, you may ask. There is no need to fear asking."

"Oh Sister, would it be possible for us to help him? To put him up with Father Paul until he can decide what he wants to do and where he wants to go?"

"My dear, that would be a favor to ask of Father Paul. I'm afraid I cannot speak for him. But perhaps if you make your case to him the way you made it to me, there is a good chance, I think."

"Oh Sister, thank you for all of your help. I'll speak with him after Mass tonight. I do hope he will feel as charitable toward Hannibal as I do. There's just something about him that seems so lost, so in need of a chance to put himself on the right track."

"Bedelia my child, I think your young friend needs our help too. And I will do what I can do soften the Father up to the idea of helping him."

Bedelia grinned, her face more radiant than the older woman believed could be possible given how lovely the girl already was. Throwing her arms around Theodora, she said tearfully, "Thank you for being so kind. I know Hannibal will be so grateful. He has told me many times all he wishes for is a chance in this country."

"I believe with all my heart that with you offering him guidance, he will do great things."

"I only wish my new friend all the happiness he can find in the world."

*****

It was late when Bedelia relieved Theodora on the ward. She was positively giddy at the prospect of relaying her news to Hannibal. He smiled as she breezed in, smoothing his hair down and sitting up straight in his bed. The older woman noticed these little things, but she was unconcerned because young Bedelia was so unwavering in her faith, in her purpose. Her heart ached for the young man because he seemed unaware that his feelings would not be returned, but she kept her own counsel, remembering from her own youth that young people's affairs are most often resolved by themselves and without the intervention of older folks.

She smiled and wished them a good night, taking her leave. When the door closed firmly behind the Sister, Bedelia sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes shining with excitement. He smiled warmly and started to touch her, but gripped the edge of the sheets instead, not wishing to upset her.

"Hello Bedelia, how are you this evening?"

"I'm well, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm feeling much better, thank you. What has you so in such high spirits?"

"I spoke with Father Paul this evening after Mass."

"Oh?"

"I told him about our conversations and your hopes for the future."

"I see."

"He has agreed to let you stay with him in the rectory until you decide where you would like to go from here."

He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, unable to process what she was saying. Stupidly, he responded, "You're going to take me in?"

"Well, the Church is, and we're willing to do what we can to help you."

He shook his head, a broad smile appearing. Unable to help himself, he pulled her into a hug, whispering his thanks into her ear. "No one has ever done anything so kind for me before. I can never repay you for this, Bedelia."

Initially, she stiffened in his embrace, the world around her becoming a cacophony of sounds and sensations. But as his words filtered in, she relaxed in his arms and found a comfortable niche for herself, whispering to him that she was happy to help him however she could. After a time, they pulled apart at the same time, their gazes locking. He touched her cheek lightly, his gaze intense as he caressed her creamy skin.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you feel it too? Or am I being silly?"

"No, you're not. And I'm hesitant to bring it up because I have no desire to derail you from your path."

"I have to be honest, I have never felt this way about a man. They were always a source of great anxiety for me, as was the rest of the world. That is why my parents sent me here, because I wasn't able to handle being in the world. I am an embarrassment to them."

"I don't believe that. You're a lovely, charming young woman."

"But I cannot function in society. I cannot do what I was bred to do: marry a man of social standing, have children, and be a lovely bauble hanging off of my successful husband's arm."

"I would never wish such a life on you, Delia," he stated, his brown eyes troubled by the very thought of the the portrait she painted.

Ducking her head, she said shyly, "I've never had a nickname before. Once my affliction made its presence known, I wasn't much spoken to except by the staff and my nanny."

"Wh-What? What could you do that is so horrible that a parent would turn their back on their own child?"

Keeping her eyes down, her cheeks flushed, she murmured, "I cannot hold a conversation with more than one person, and I become agitated in crowds. I have...attacks. I feel as if I cannot breathe and I have fainted before. As I told you when we met, I do not like to be touched by someone who is unfamiliar and I am not yet comfortable with. I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I feel as if my soul knows yours. Tell me, do you feel the same?"

"I do," he breathed fiercely, "And I don't care if you have a nervous condition, that doesn't matter. I will protect and defend you with my dying breath if necessary."

Her bright blue eyes filled with tears and she responded tremulously, "Oh Hannibal."

"I know you're torn, szerelmem. You don't know what you want at this very moment, and that is perfectly normal. But I don't want you to feel that you have to choose me. No matter what, you and I will always be the closest of friends."

"I've already made my choice, Hannibal." She smiled and leaned closer to him, touching her lips to his.

He returned her kiss, his hands cupping her head as if she was made of fine crystal. It had been some time since he had been with a woman and he was quickly aroused by the angel before him, by the brush of her lips, and the smell of pure, clean woman. Her fingers slid into his shaggy hair and tugged him closer, her lips slanting over his. When they broke for air, he touched her swollen lips tenderly, watching her watch him through hooded eyes.

"I thought you were an innocent," he teased.

"I-I am," she stammered, a flash of fear crossing her face, "I only did what my instincts told me to."

"You have excellent instincts, my dear." He grinned devilishly, playfully chucking her chin. "I  
can't wait to see more of them first hand."

"What are your plans for me, Hannibal?"

"I'd like to court you, Delia, the way any man worth his salt woos a woman. I want to prove myself worthy of your affections, of your trust."

"You are, Hannibal. I choose you. I'm ready to go the moment you're healed."

"Szerelmem, you should consider this more carefully. You're leaving everything behind for a man who has nothing. I have no future at this moment. Love is wonderful and I want to spend my life with you, but it won't feed, clothe and shelter us."

"I know. But I only have a week left before I take my final vows. I know the nuns care for me and I for them, they have become my family these last several years, but I don't think they will begrudge me overcoming my affliction and finding someone to spend my life with."

Gently, he asked, "Do you really want to repay their kindness and affection by slipping away in the night?"

"No," she shakes her head and bites her lower lip, "I could never do that to them."

"When Sister Theodora comes in tomorrow morning, we can speak with her together. I think you have a powerful ally in her, and I believe she will support us, no matter how difficult it might be for us at first."

"I won't be able to stay here if I am no longer a Postulate."

"They are willing to take me in and assist me, perhaps they will allow you to stay as well until we can get our bearings?"

"I hope you're prepared to do some smooth talking, my love." She grinned impishly at him and placed a quick kiss on his lips.

"I won over Sister Albertine, didn't I?"

"Good point," she chuckled. "All right, sleep now. You'll need your rest because tomorrow is going to be a big day."

"I don't want you worrying, dearest. No matter what, I will love and protect you until the day I die. I give you my solemn oath."

"And I promise to care for and honor you until the day I die."

"Bedelia?"

The lovers freeze, sharing a horrified glance. She recovered first and swallowed hard, rising to face Sister Theodora. "Yes, Sister?"

 

"Did I just hear your correctly? Did you pledge yourself to this young man?"

"I did, Sister."

For the first time, she feared the older woman's long strides toward her and her impassive expression. Bedelia tensed, fearing the nun would slap her, but was surprised when she was pulled into a bear hug and kissed on both cheeks.

"My dear, I'm so happy for you. I wanted so much more for you than this life. There is nothing more sacred than the service to the Lord, but I have always felt that you were destined for more than this. I'm happy for both of you. I've seen you together and I've never seen a more well-suited match."

"Thank you, Sister," Hannibal responded, his cheeks slightly pink. "I promise you I will always take care of her."

"That is all I ask for, my boy." She kissed his cheek. "I will talk to Father Paul tomorrow and explain the situation, I will ask him what help we can provide. You will need to speak with the Mother Superior tomorrow as well, Bedelia, and explain your decision. She will confer with Father Paul and they will make their decision."

"What do you think will happen, Sister?" Bedelia looked stricken.

"I think she will be quite pleased, child. We wish only the best for you, and until the Lord brought this man into your life, we believed that to be a cloistered life, where you would be sheltered and protected from the world. But we have all watched you blossom these last few weeks, and it has been quite a sight to behold."

"Now, Hannibal, you go to sleep. Bedelia, we should talk."

"Yes, Sister."

The two women left the ward to the man who presently believed he was the king of the universe. He crossed his arms behind his head and grinned up at the ceiling. For the first time in years, he felt that he had finally turned a corner, there was finally a future ahead of him with the only woman he had ever loved at his side. He had been less than honest with her and the other nuns about his past and the reason he had been shot-he felt that if they knew the truth, they would turn him out into the cold that very first night. Now, he didn't want to tell Bedelia, he was ashamed and he didn't want to burden her innocent soul with the taint of his sins.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, and was eager for the morning to see his beloved again.

*****

Hannibal wasn't a religious man, he believed only in what he could see and touch. By this point, life had beaten the faith out of him. But when he met Bedelia, something changed in him, it made him believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a grand design to all things. As he eyed his modest jacket and breeches, he sent up a silent thank you to anyone who might be listening for the good fortune he had found in the good-hearted woman who had seen something in him he couldn't see in himself. And today of all days, he needed all the blessings that could possibly be given, because the small boy within him who was rejected by his mother and left to live or die as nature saw fit on the streets of Budapest was deeply fearful he would be abandoned by another woman whom he loved more than anything else in the world.

Father Paul rapped on the door and poked his head into the room, smiling when he saw Hannibal. "Good morning. Are you ready for this?"

"Yes, Father, I think I am. I've never felt anything like this before. All I can think of is loving her until the day I die."

The priest grinned and patted his shoulder warmly. "Sounds like love to me."

"Do you-Father, do you think she loves me too?"

"Of course I do, my son. I've never seen young Bedelia so radiant and alive. Meeting you has done wonders for her, Hannibal. I didn't know you before you came here, but something about you seems more settled now than it was when you first came here. Those things are the beginnings of a good match. And it's true that your acquaintance has been short, but meant to be is quick to fire and often unexplainable."

"I just worry maybe I'm not doing what's right by her."

"She chose you, Hannibal. She loves you and wants to spend her life at your side. Bedelia isn't the type of woman to make choices impulsively. You're aware of her affliction?"

"Yes, she has explained it to me in a sense. Do you know what causes it?"

"No, I don't, and doctors cannot seem to explain it either. They blame it on her sex, but it's unlike anything I've ever seen, and that makes me believe it's not true. But then again, I'm a forward thinker."

"I'm worried for her, sir. It's been quite some time since she's been out in the world and I'm concerned about how she will react to having to interact with people on a daily basis."

"I think she will do well because she has your love and support." He slapped Hannibal on the back and said jovially, "Well son, are you ready to tie the knot?"

"More than you can believe," Hannibal grinned.

*****

"Wasn't the ceremony lovely?" Bedelia sighed and smiled up at her husband.

"The nuns did a good job with the decorations," he admitted. He unlocked the door to their room in the boarding house and bent quickly, sweeping the bride off of her feet, laughing at her squeal. "Welcome to our humble abode, Mrs. Lecter."

He carried her into the room, shutting the door with his foot behind them. He placed her on her feet and they looked around the single room, pleased that it was clean and theirs until they had saved enough to rent a house. The Church had helped both of them get jobs, he would start working in the train yard the following week and she would work in the Church-run hospital as a ward nurse, but now would receive wages. In the meantime, the next six days were theirs to do with as they pleased.

"Well, will it do?"

"It is perfect for us." She slid her arms around him and rose on tiptoes, kissing his cheek. "This is the happiest day of my life, Hannibal."

"It is mine also, szerelmem."

Shyly, she asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means 'love,' dearest. And you are mine."

Flushing prettily, she held him tighter, resting her head on his chest and listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. Her eyes closed at the sensation of him arms tightening their hold on her, his lips pressed to the top of her head. He was desperate with wanting her, but because of his love for her, he was willing to wait as long as it took. He refused to frighten her by rushing her, especially as she had no mother to explain matters between a husband and a wife, and he seriously doubted any of the nuns were privy to such things either.

"Hannibal, my love?"

"Yes?"

"Sh-Should I change now?"

Pulling back slightly, he gaped at her. "Where did you ever hear about that?"

"I'm not stupid, Hannibal," she chuckled, looking up at him slyly through her lashes. "It was Sister Albertine. Before she became a nun, she was married and widowed. She was young and without any skills, so the Church took her in. The nuns allowed her to join their Order after a few years and she has been there since."

Astonished, he said, "Well, I'll be damned."

"It happens more than most people realize. Women who have nowhere to go often go to the Church."

"I am grateful to them. If not for them, I never would have met you, the only woman who can save me from myself."

Her eyes welled with tears and she kissed his lips, overcome with emotion. He held her close, returning her kisses, the urgency between them building. She allowed him to lead her to the bed and he sat, unbuttoning her dress. She went to work on his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders carelessly, her hands exploring his chest with great curiosity as he got her out of her dress, loosened her corset and set to work on her underthings. To his delight, she continued to follow her instincts, kissing his face, jaw and his neck until she stood before him nude, and he was only in his breeches and boots. He watched, marveling at her curious nature as she sank to her knees, unfastened his trousers, pulled off his boots and pulled his pants down one leg at a time.

"Delia," he groaned softly, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet. "Let's slow down. I don't want to rush this and hurt you."

"You could never hurt me." She smiled brightly at him, her faith in him shining in her big blue eyes.

"Didn't Sister Albertine explain, uh, relations? Between a man and a woman?"

"Yes, of course. But I know that you will never ever hurt me, not that way."

"I'd rather die than hurt you in any way." He released her hands, running his palms up her shoulders, down her back, and coming to rest on her hips. "I love you, Delia. I never want to do anything to make you regret marrying me."

"I won't, I promise." She smiled at him with such love and whispered, "I'm waiting for my husband to officially make me his wife."

He grinned, pulling her into his arms. He pulled her body flush against his, his hands on her ass, his face pressed against her throat, laving and playfully nipping the baby soft skin there. She smelled like sweet lemons and she moaned softly at his ministrations, her fingers tightened in his long hair, her eyes half-lidded as she angled her head back to give him better access. He trailed kisses down her chest and nuzzled the curve of her breast, smiling at her gasp, teasing her tightened nipple with his nose.

"Hannibal," she whimpered, clutching at his head and urging him to suckle. When he did, she keened helplessly, never knowing such feelings of pleasure existed. "Please."

She was shaking, her knees growing weak, and he paused, turning and settling her on the bed before climbing onto it himself. He rested on hands and knees above her, simply watching her watch him. Raising a trembling hand, she cupped the back of his neck and gently pulled him toward her, playfully rubbing her nose against his. He kissed her smiling lips, gently opening her thighs and eased his body onto hers. She radiated nervous energy, her body tense, and he paused, searching her eyes.

"Delia? Szerelmem, are you all right?"

"I'm-I'm nervous. I've never..."

"I know, and it's all right to be nervous. We will take this slow and we will do this together, yes?"

"Yes."

"Just as before, my lovely wife, let nature take its course. Do whatever you feel."

She nodded, swallowing hard, raising her hands and touching his face tenderly.


	2. 1340 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not risking our lives for maybes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eugenie= Bedelia Du Maurier  
> Rene= Hannibal Lecter

"It's not fair, Rene! Why do I have to get married?"

Eugenie stomped her foot, her small hands fisted on her hips, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. Rene, her cousin and very best friend in the world, shook his head sadly, hanging his head. It was all he could do to keep his emotions in check.

"If I have to get married, why can't I marry you? I like you and we're the very best of friends."

"Because that doesn't matter, you know that. People in our position-"

"Not you too," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "I'm so sick of hearing those words!"

"Genie, you're fourteen years old. Stop acting like a baby," Rene scolded. "You know how this works. Your father is a Duke, your mother is a cousin of King James VI, you come from a wealthy and distinguished lineage. You have to marry someone worthy of your bloodline. I am not worthy."

"The hell you aren't!"

"Please, don't do this. Don't make a scene."

"Don't talk to me as if I'm a child, Rene! I know all too well what my parents expect me to do, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. And it doesn't mean I have to make it easy for him."

"Whatever you're thinking, stop. You cannot jeopardize this opportunity with childish pranks. Yes he is older, but he is a good man. He will care for you and take care of you."

"The same can be said for many a complete bastard. And what do we really know about him?"

"He is German nobility. A match with him will be quite the coup for you and for the family."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you the one telling me this? Where is my father, the self-proclaimed master of the universe?"

"They felt it would be better accepted coming from me. Everyone knows you have the temper of a red-headed fishwife."

"Fuck off, Rene."

"I rest my case."

Her lip curled in disgust and she glowered at him, wishing she could hate him and his stupid dark eyes with their promises of adventure and that stupid lock of hair that was always falling across his forehead. But she felt far more for him than she let on, and if their "practice" sessions were anything to go by, he felt deeply for her as well.

"Please, let's run away and be done with it. Neither of us wants to get married and certainly not to the people our families have picked for us. We love each other, we can tell people we're married, or brother and sister, whatever you want. I just want to leave life this behind."

"Do you even know what you're saying? Neither of us has ever worked a day. We know how to do nothing but spend money, gamble, dance and be waited on. No one is going to do that for us without money, Genie"

"I can sew and no one knows horses like you do. We can support ourselves and rent a little room in a village by the sea." She was begging him now, her eyes full.

"Why? Why does this mean so much to you? Why would you give up everything for me?"

"Because I love you!"

"That isn't enough, cherie, I'm sorry. Your father, both of our fathers, would kill me. They might kill you too. At the very least, you'd be put in a convent. Or the workhouse."

"I have to get away, Rene. Please, I'm begging you to come with me, be my protector."

"Why are you so desperate to leave?"

"I'm-I-We have a problem."

He looked at her, his apprehension visible, but he didn't speak. He knew whatever she had to say, it was serious and it affected them both. Eugenie wasn't one to play games with a person's mind, she was brutally honest, an admirable and sometimes hurtful quality.

"I'm going to have a baby," she whispered in a rush. She looked up at him with fearful dark eyes.

"Jesus Christ." He raked a hand through his hair, a frown on his face. "How do you know?"

"I felt movement two nights ago. The midwife calls it "quickening." I'm beginning to show and while she said i can hide the pregnancy, I won't be able to conceal the birth from my family, especially now that Father has taken it into his head to marry me off to that German."

"We would have better luck remaining hidden if we went away from France."

"Where will we go?"

"The more distance between us and France the better."

"We could go to Ireland. Or Scotland. I'd rather avoid England because we both have family there."

"Pack your warmest clothing."

"I'll take everything I have of value, though I think we would cause less of a stir if we dressed the part. No one will think much of the immigrants who look like them."

"And when people ask, what will we say?"

"We could always tell part of the truth. We ran from our families because they disapproved of our love, we were married by a priest with friends in attendance, and now we're expecting."

He narrowed his eyes and said, "You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"

"For the last two days, yes."

"How long have you known you were in this condition?"

"For two days. I thought I was having female troubles, so I sought help from a midwife. She gave me the news." Eugenie watched him carefully, wondering for the first time at his commitment to them. "What are you thinking, Rene, at this moment?"

"I'm wondering how much money I can get my hands on before we leave. I'm praying it's not just enough to get us there."

"What if we stopped in London? I can sell my jewelry, it should fetch a great deal of money."

"Are you certain you wish to do this?"

"I told you I love you. I meant it."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Rene!"

"I have to know. I'm not risking our lives for maybes."

"Neither of us were very forthcoming about our deepest feelings for each other. We have pretended to the world and to each other we are just the best of friends, playmates since infancy, that our feelings for each other are strictly platonic. I have revealed mine, won't you do the same? Or was I just a warm body to practice with?"

"If that was all I desired I would have taken a chambermaid to my bed. I love you too, Eugenie, I have since we were children. You were anything but a warm body to me." He took her into his arms, looking deeply into her eyes. "I love you. I always have and I always will. If you really want to spend our lives together, then I do too. And I'll go wherever you want to go. How did you never know that I would follow you to the ends of the Earth?"

"How did you not know you are the only man I would ever want to spend my life with?"

"We have to be truthful with one another going forward, because all we have is each other."

"Agreed." She nodded once, a sly grin turned her lips up. "Should we spit shake on it?"

"We're not trading horseflesh," he chuckled, pulling her close and staring down at her lips. "We will seal this deal with a kiss."


	3. Queen of the Night: 1708 AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has her own code, one which puzzles him, but he doesn't question it anymore as it makes her cross.

At the tender age of thirteen, she gives her virginity the man who oversees her father's fields and cries rape when her maid catches her washing the blood and semen mixture from her thighs. He is tried and hanged.

A year later, she dabbles in witchcraft with her friends and as their leader, stirs up a hornet's nest of accusations and deaths in the witch trials, while remaining a victim in the eyes of the townsfolk.

At fifteen, she marries an obscenely wealthy, lifelong bachelor who is twenty-five years her senior, highly regarded by neighbors and peers in their village, and an utter bore. Despite being in stellar health, he dies suddenly of a heart attack, leaving her widowed after only a few years of marriage and richer than she ever dreamed. Being a foolish, arrogant young person, she fires everyone who stands between her and the freedom to spend her inheritance as she wishes, rapidly squandering every dime. She skips out on her debts in the middle of the night and flees to Boston with everything she can, changing her name so she isn't easily found.

 

Slowly, she is forced to sell off her valuables to fund her wild, extravagant lifestyle, but as she's reaching the last few baubles, she begins to seriously contemplate her next move. Another marriage? Not likely, once was quite enough. It is her predilections for alcohol and other intoxicating substances that leads her to her next addiction-sex. Through a friend of a friend, she meets the man who supplies the "party favors" to the crowd she is running with. He is immediately taken with her breeding and substantial charms, and they begin a sexual affair. She trades sex for her vices and learns that a man is capable of giving a woman physical pleasure.

At twenty, she's grown "too old" for him and he ditches her, leaving her with nothing but her vast wardrobe and a out of control hunger for sex and opiates. She makes attempts to seduce a number of wealthy older men with the intent of becoming their mistress, but her appetites are more than these men are willing to risk. In the end, she turns to a friend, who is also a madam that caters to an upscale clientele, as this has become her only avenue of income. She works on her back for eight years before he enters her boudoir and changes everything.

She lays back, giggling, high on laudanum and whiskey shots. She's fallen so far from grace, resorting to things she's never dreamed of in order to survive. But she has to admit, in her heart, she rather enjoys it. She has never been the wholesome girl next door, and even as a child, she had darker desires. Coming from a family with vast means, she has always had nothing but time on her hands and a hunger to fill it with something that quickens her blood.

The man who crawls between her splayed legs rucks her long, heavy skirt up as he advances, exposing her bare sex to his hungry gaze. Raising a hand to touch his face, she is distracted by its progression, like an infant who has just discovered they not only possess, but control them. The man between her thighs is dangerous and he has never attempted to conceal that fact from her. His discriminating tastes not withstanding, he is a card shark, a crack shot, and most recently, her lover, not just another a john.

He doesn't care what she did before he met her, he understands survival better than anyone could possibly imagine, but he does care now. It is for that very reason he supplied her the laudanum this night, her hooker's helper, because while she has a taste for the drug's euphoric properties, it will also make it easier when the time comes. She can be quite a hellcat when she's agitated and that's just the sort of attention he would like to avoid. While he is feared, he is also hated, and there are people who would relish an opportunity to eliminate him amidst his distraction with keeping her under control. She will never come willingly, breaching her contract with her madam. She has her own code, one which puzzles him, but he doesn't question it anymore because it makes her cross.

Shutting off his thoughts, he enters her, relishing her soft sigh and the silky warmth that welcomes him with a firm squeeze after he's reached maximum depth. They begin to move together, reveling in the sensations, in each other. He takes his time with her, has since the very first time, because he has always wanted to be more to her than just another fuck for a buck. She responds to him as a woman, not as a prostitute, her fingertips pressed hard into the skin of his back, her legs locking around his waist as he slowly sinks into her again and again.

He pushes her over the edge once and follows a heartbeat after her second climax. She urges him with both hands to rest against her, his harsh breaths in her ear soothing as their bodies cool from their exertions. She loves him, she wants desperately to tell him so, but he has never made such an admission to her. She fears being the first one to say it, especially as she means it for the first time ever. She doesn't want him to think she is weak, emotional, the typical woman who confuses sex and love.

"Dearest?"

"Mmm, yes?"

"You're quiet tonight."

"Merely thinking."

"About?"

"What this means."

"This?"

"Us, here, this moment."

"I know what this has always meant to me." He pushes himself up on powerful arms, looking down at her flushed face earnestly.

"And what is that?"

"I wish to run away with you, to leave Boston and make a life together, start over."

"What is your plan for us? Where will we go?"

"I was thinking West. People are beginning to move that way thanks to explorers and fur trappers bringing word that there is more to this land than once thought. Unless you honestly wish to stay here and do what you do til disease or violence takes you from this world."

"No, of course not. But it has been so long since I lived a normal life. I'm not sure I remember how," she confesses softly, gentle fingers trace his collarbone.

"Then we can remember together. We don't have to lead the social scene, my dear, but maybe someday we could rejoin it together."

"Give the illusion of respectability?"

"Something like that, yes."

"And what makes you think I'd be interested in that sort of life? I fled that very thing when I was eighteen years old."

"And now you're thirty. You're still beautiful, but how long do you think that will last? How much longer til the fast living catches up with you and the years begin to show? Do you know what you'll do then? Do you think Penny will let you stick around for free? Do you think she'll take care of you?"

"Of course not," she says, closing her eyes. "And no, I haven't given it any thought. I don't like to think about the future, it's too uncertain."

"Even now, with what I have offered you?"

"What assurances are you giving that this is a legitimate partnership? That you won't abandon me if some pretty young farmer's daughter catches your fancy?"

"You're the only farmer's daughter who's caught my fancy, dearest."

She smirks, the high fading as sleepiness sets in. She brackets his face with her hands and leans up, kissing him softly. Her eyes close and she whispers, "I'll go with you, my love."

He grins proudly, pleased to have won her cooperation without having to abduct her. It would make stealing away tonight much easier if she did awaken. She has agreed to the arrangement, and if nothing else, she is a woman of her word. He's known all along her contract with Penny has expired, she has fulfilled her obligations to her friend and now simply uses the accommodations the house provides to continue her business with protection from the law, while paying a moderate rent, given her talents.

He dresses her as quickly as he can in the most modest dress in her wardrobe, while Penny assists him by packing her belongings. She's sorry to see her friend go, but she can appreciate the offer that is being made to her and would never begrudge anyone an opportunity to leave this life behind. She calls one of the male servants to move their trunks to the waiting carriage outside, and gives each of them a kiss to their cheek, wishing them well.

By the time she awakens, it is mid-morning and she is hung over. She moans softly and cracks her eyes open, surprised to see him sitting across from her, smiling. The movement of the carriage makes her gorge rise and she barely gets her head out of the window to lose the contents of her stomach on the dirt road.

"What the hell are we doing?"

His grin widens at the venom in her tone, which belies the weakened state she is in. "We are moving West, dearest, just as you agreed to last night."

"How long have you known I'm no longer under contract?"

"Quite some time. There's no sense in denying you were afraid because I know that too. I'm not going to hold it against you, my love."

"I never said I was afraid. I'm not afraid of anything."

He gives her a knowing look. "Are you sure that's the answer you want to go with?"

"Fine, I was afraid. I'm still afraid. Are you happy now?"

"Why do you fear me?"

"I don't fear you, even though you're dangerous. I have heard the rumors about the things you've done to people, those who have crossed you, and to your actual enemies. Tell me, is it true you finger painted the word 'chicken' on a man's bare chest with his own blood after you slit him stem to stern?"

"Guilty as charged. But only because of what he dared to say about you. He ran home for a Flintlock and was going to shoot me in the back."

"Jesus."

"It was Penny who warned me of his intentions. He was rather surprised to find me outside on the street waiting for him."

"I have no doubt of that."

"It is those youthful indiscretions I wish to leave behind me, dearest."

"Are you able to leave these impulses of yours behind you? Can you be sure?"

"No, I can't be, but I want to try. I want to be worthy of you."

"Worthy of me," she laughs, shaking her head. "I've spent the last ten years working as a prostitute, how can you possibly think yourself unworthy?"

"Because I know there's more to you than your profession and addictions. I don't claim to know why you feel your devious desires any more than I can claim to understand my own, but we're alike in mind and heart. I've searched so long for someone like you, who sees me as I am, and still wants me."

She is taken aback by his naked honesty. This is the very thing she's wondered about, hoped for, and now the ball is in her court. It's time to put up or shut up. It doesn't take long for her to make her decision.

"I've waited my entire life for someone like you as well. I can't tell you how comforting it is to have evidence that there is someone like myself in the world. That we may be together without killing each other."

"You say that now."

She laughs and gingerly crosses the small distance to sit beside him. Taking his hand, she clasps it between hers and brings it to her chest, her eyes trained on his. "I will protect you to the very best of my ability, I will honor and respect you, I will remain faithful to you all the days of my life, if you promise to do the same."

"I will," he responds solemnly, looking deeply into her eyes.

"So, is our marriage be a real one or just a facade?"

He winks and reaches into his pocket, producing two simple gold bands, one larger than the other. "It will be real, but I would prefer it if we are married in the next town and no longer living in sin. It will certainly make life easier for us for the rest of our journey."

"I accept. And not because of mutual need for protection, but because I love you and I have for some time."

"Despite what others think, I do know what it is to love and I am capable of feeling it. And I do love you, my dear. I think I have since the day I laid eyes on you."

She gives him a real smile, revealing her dimples, and leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her, holding her close, placing a soft kiss on her temple. Their private demons are, at last, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series was inspired by "Devil's Backbone" by the Civil Wars.


	4. Before Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long fall from grace.

"It is not fair," Luci pouted. He cast a surly glance at their Father, who was hard at work on his latest masterpiece. "Look at him, Raffi, look at what our Father does."

"I see, Luci." Raffi was twirling a lock of her curly, wheat-colored hair, and obviously quite bored.

"It does not bother you?"

"No, it does not," she answered for the umpteenth time, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. "I am a servant, I follow orders and do what I am told. Father would be much less cross with you if you would simply remember your place!"

Snidely, he remarked, "And yet you blindly serve, despite rarely ever having felt Father's grace."

"I have no need to shine, Luci. I am the keeper of Virtues, one of which is humility. It would serve you well to reacquaint yourself with it."

"Do not threaten me, Raffi," he said, the threat clear in his tone.

"I am not threatening you, I am trying to help you. We all know Father loves you best, you are the brightest star in the sky. But if you continue to antagonize him, I fear what he will do."

He softened, his ire melting away. Tenderly, he took her into his arms and held her, his eyes closing as he felt her respond in kind. Holding her close, he unfolded his massive wings and wrapped them around her. Feelings were forbidden amongst Angels, only to be expressed for Father, but neither could resist the pull between them. It was not as if they were true siblings of the same flesh, 'brother' and 'sister' were terms meant merely to unify the Choirs. 

Their lips met in a tender kiss, their tongues tangling playfully. She gave a little hop and wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms sliding around his neck. He tightened his hold on her and they abruptly vanished from the Kingdom with a loud flutter of wings and reappeared in the Garden beside The Tree. She unfurled her wings and he pressed her back against the massive trunk, their kisses continued unabated.

She encircled him with her own wings and the energy between them began to crackle and glow. Angel sex was akin what human sex would be, after humans became a part of existence. Angels had no sex organs, but they were composed of energy, and when two of the most powerful Angels from the highest Choirs came together and merged, the result was explosive and unlike anything either of them had ever known. 

It was for that very reason they kept meeting like this, this and a far more frightening prospect, one neither of them acknowledged outside the confines of their own thoughts. But neither ever once imagined that someone was watching, listening.

"Luci," Raffi whimpered, clutching him tighter.

"I know, my lovely, I know," he murmured in her ear, willing her release. There was no sight on Earth or in Heaven more beautiful to behold than his beloved in the throes of passion.

"Please," she whined, her hands tightly clutching at the strong muscles that attached his wings to his back.

He whispered against her lips, "Take it, my love, have your pleasure."

She released a keening wail, the effects of their combined energy sending her reeling once again. Her fingers draw blood, tugging feathers from his wings at the base of the shaft, the pain triggering his own release. There is no exchange of bodily fluids, Angels do not reproduce, but as they would come to understand, it leaves a trace, as all energy, good or bad, does.

They basked momentarily in the rosy afterglow, kissing and touching, until she saw the dark red blood and pristine white feathers on her hands. Gasping, she stared at them, a look of horrified fascination in her bright eyes. Taking one of them, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it tenderly, his eyes trained on her.

"I am sorry, are you all right?"

"Of course," he chuckled, caressing her flushed cheek. "We do not have to go though this every time, you know. I am aware you mean no harm."

"I just-I lose control. I never knew such feelings were possible."

"Nor did I, until you."

"Raphael and Lucifer," a well-known voice boomed, startling them from their torrid embrace. "I am disappointed, Raphael. Lucifer, I cannot say I am surprised, unfortunately."

"Father," Raffi gasped, tears welling in her eyes.

"Did you think I would not know? That I could not foresee this very outcome when I made you?" He looked between his two favorites, his expression stern and his dissatisfaction palpable. "I know which of you is responsible for the temptation of the other, but this cannot go unpunished."

Tears of grief and shame ran down her cheeks, she found she could not look upon the resplendence of her Father, and hung her head in contrition. She felt a touch as warm as sun on her face and she closed her eyes, reveling in their Father's grace.

"Do not cry, Child," the Father said, kissing her forehead tenderly. "We all have to learn, and sometimes that means learning a lesson."

"I understand."

"As for you, Lucifer, we should chat."

Raffi knew a dismissal when she heard one, and left them with a flap of her powerful wings. As Father turned, all warmth bled from his face, his fury with his eldest son evident. Luci gulped, feeling a stab of fear.

"How long have you known, Lucifer, that I gave you and Raphael free will?"

"For some time now, Father."

"How did you know?"

"When I felt the first pangs of rebellion within myself."

"And you have it set in your mind to turn Raphael to your point of view and leave this Kingdom I have created?"

"Yes," Luci answered honestly.

"Why are you not happy here with what I have given you?"

"Because it is not ours. It is yours, and for the creation you are working on now. We are soldiers, servants of your will."

"Has it never once occurred to you that there is a larger plan at work here?"

"For them, perhaps, but not for us. We will continue on as executors of your plan, Father, never their equals. Or yours."

"You were not created to be my equals, my Son. But you have a greater part to play than the humans."

"I have no desire to be a part of your plan, Father. I would like to take my leave now."

Clasping his hands behind his back, Father nodded, "As you wish, my Son."

Without so much as a word, Luci found himself falling, his wings flapping uselessly, the brilliant white fading to grey as he fell, the tips of his wings turning black seconds before he landed in a large body of water. Spluttering, he thrashed and fought his way to shallower water and rose on shaky legs. It was bitterly cold, the wind was blowing, and Lucifer struggled to the shore, looking for any form of shelter.

He finally stumbled upon a cave and made his way inside, his mind racing at his reversal of fortune. He had never before been cold or hungry and now found he was both, but had no idea how to warm himself or to satisfy his desire for sustenance. He waited, shivering and miserable, calling for Raffi and wondering if she was still able to hear his voice.

A flutter of wings announced an arrival.

"Raffi?"

"No, Brother," Gabriel said imperiously.

"Gabe, I am so happy to see you. I-I don't know what happened."

"You told Father you wanted to leave, so he put you on a shuttle."

"What is this place?"

"It is the place humans will fear, the place they do not realize is your true domain. This is Hell, Lucifer, your Hell, and theirs."

Warily, Luci inquired, "And what is this place really?"

"This, my Brother, is Earth. It will be your home away from home until the end of time. You despise the humans, so walking among them for all eternity is your punishment."

"He would not."

"It is done. And it is a far kinder fate than I would have given you."

"Where is Raffi? I want to see her! What has he done to her?"

"Raffi is home and will remain there. She has been forbidden to see you again, and if she does, she will be cast out with you. Our Brothers and Sisters have seen your punishment, Luci, do not think for an instant anyone will be coming to your aid. This is a fate worse than losing Father's love."

"Then he has taken my grace?"

"You forfeited it, if you recall."

"How am I to survive this wretched world?"

"I have been instructed to give you a means of survival to get you started."

"So I will die?"

"Oh no, you will not die. But you will suffer all the trials of humanity. You will feel grief, despair, hunger, cold, heat and physical pain. You will not die, Lucifer, you will observe."

"May I not say goodbye to Raffi?"

"No."

Gabriel pulled out his sword and cut Lucifer's wings from him in a single downward swing. He stared in shock as Gabriel gathered them up and disappeared, leaving him alone, save a piece of parchment with Angelic script, in Raffi's hand. Luci wanted to scream, to rip the parchment to shreds, instead he cursed his Father and swore his revenge.

From above, Raffi looked down upon her beloved, wrapped her wings around her form, and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that technically Raphael has always been referred to as a guy, but I have always believed this was a human construct, as the world was run by men at the time. I am not a Theologian, so any mistakes or misinterpretations are mine alone. Additionally, this is why I shouldn't binge watch shows. There could be dragons or ghosts later, who knows where my overactive imagination might take me. ;)


	5. They Were The Best of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends are the friends we love the best.

He spotted her before she saw him. She was as beautiful as ever, even more so when her hooded cloak was removed and he spotted her rounded abdomen, ripe with the growth of new life. Her husband was away, gone to war these last four months, leaving a new wife who may or may not have been aware of her condition at the time of his departure. Not for the first time, he felt a stab of longing for her. It wasn't only in the physical sense-he loved her desperately and had since the moment he laid eyes on her. Her father certainly never approved of the nouveau riche immigrant, and make no mistake, it was the immigrant part he turned his nose up at, as if her family hadn't come over a generation ago from Holland and Ireland in search of a better life. Prior to his courting of his daughter, the two men were quite good friends.

She was unescorted, which made him smile. Fiercely independent was his beloved and quite capable of taking care of herself. Her family owned a large, working ranch, a 3,000 acre spread in West Texas, where she learned to ride and shoot young and was raised not to suffer fools or goldbrickers. She currently managed her husband's 1,500 acre spread single-handedly and was turning a tidy profit. He watched with a soft smile as several females surrounded her, cooing over her condition, and led her to a sofa so she could sit.

He could see the strain in her smile, her impatience with being treated as if she would shatter easily. They were considered the "well to do" in this part of the world, but most were not pretentious. These were the descendants of last of the pioneers of the great untamed west, they knew who they were and where they came from and it was a great sense of tremendous pride for them. He longed to feel that pride of accomplishment, to put down strong roots and watch a family grow, but there was no one else for him but her.

Keeping his distance, he danced with other women, took supper surrounded by friends, and fought valiantly to keep his eyes averted from wherever she was. After many of the guests had left or had gone to one of the guest rooms for the night, he sat with a married couple he was close friends with, sharing a bottle of wine. He paused in mid-conversation after noting the surprised looks on the couples' faces and turned his head. He was surprised to see her standing beside him, her hand coming to rest on the back of the wooden chair he was seated in.

"May I speak with you," she politely inquired, greeting the couple who were also childhood friends of hers.

"Of course. If you'll excuse me?"

Nodding, the couple rose and drifted away, in search of something to nibble on.

"This isn't wise," he said quietly.

"Nor was marrying Weston, but here we are."

"Your father-"

"I am a married woman now, Daddy has no say in whom I speak to. And we are here for all the world to see, not hidden away in some dark lovers corner."

"My concern is for you, chere. People already suspect the child is mine."

"And Dr Childress has been a staunch ally in that department. At the merest suggestion, he informs them that I am not as far along as I appear."

"You look ready to burst."

"I'm short and there is nowhere for the baby to go but out."

"This really isn't a conversation to be having in mixed company."

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. My reputation is above reproach."

"Until it isn't."

She whispered harshly, "You sound like my father, not the man who fathered this child."

"Stop it," he growled. "May I be of service in some way?"

"I was hoping you would see us home. Clea won't let me out of her sight and our ride has left for the evening." She rolled her eyes despite the smile that tugged at her luscious lips.

"Why didn't you leave with them? You should probably be resting."

"I'm having a baby, not dying. Stop treating me as if I'm made of crystal, you know how angry it makes me."

"I do, and I'm apologize. But I care deeply for you, so I worry about you, especially in your condition."

"I know you do," she murmured, "And I do appreciate it, even if it doesn't seem so."

"Then yes, I will be honored to see you and Clea home."

"Thank you. Let's go say our goodbyes."

After thanking their hosts for a lovely evening and picking up two more passengers (two matrons that were notorious gossips and likely looking for grist for the gossip mill) they made their way to the front door. A flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder greeted them, and the group exchanged looks of dismay. He hustled the older ladies out to his '36 Chevy Phaeton hardtop, settled them into the front seat, and halfway back to the last two ladies, the skies opened up.

He offered each of the remaining women and arm, and Clea yelled over the pouring rain, "Naw sir! You help her, I get myself to the car. She need yo' help more'n I do."

The man and woman exchanged an amused look and he wrapped an arm around her, securing her against him, before leading her into the rain. She giggled as she climbed into the back seat, her hands resting on her belly. Her laugh had always been infectious and few could resist joining in after she got going, so no one was surprised when the matrons began to chuckle along with her.

Clea took one of her mistress' hands and squeezed it once, before tracing letters on her palm. It was a secret form of communication the two had had since childhood, and after Clea finished her message, her friend tapped her arm twice signaling "message received". The older women were taken home first because they lived in the opposite direction and neither argued because the weather was atrocious. They wished the three good luck and a safe drive home before dashing beneath the carport.

The ride home was mellow, the three spoke casually about the party, and traded the bits of gossip they had heard, laughing at the ridiculousness of most of it. They arrived at the house, the storm still raging, and Clea helped him get her inside. She led the pregnant woman upstairs to get her into dry clothes, muttering about colds, despite the fact that it was a hot night in late May, while he locked up the house. The rest of the staff was asleep and Clea wished them a good night before retiring.

"Stay with me," she whispered, her eyes pleading.

"I shouldn't, chere. I don't want to compromise you."

"Clea won't say anything, she knows about us. She's my very best friend, she is the keeper of my secrets and I am hers. She would never betray us. And given the storm, no one would expect me to send you away."

"She isn't the only person who works for you and you have no such assurances from them."

"He's going to die," she said, her eyes welling with tears.

"Just because he gone to war doesn't mean he will die," he said in a soothing tone. "Plenty of men return from war completely healthy."

"I've seen it." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and said, "His plane will be shot down tomorrow."

"Oh my God."

"I will be a widow before I become a mother. And we have kept our affair a secret, no one knows you are the father of this child, that I was pregnant a month before we were married. Please, stay with me," she begged softly, sliding her arms around his waist.

Chuckling, he wrapped an arm around her and led her upstairs to her bedroom. He locked the bedroom door and when he turned, she was lying on the bed, nude, waiting for him. His mouth went dry at the sight of her, the desire in her eyes and her utter trust in him still awed him. Quickly, he shed his clothing and climbed into bed, settling beside her. He kissed and touched her lightly because he liked to wind her up so her climax was more explosive.

Tonight, she wanted tenderness, a connection, and he was going to give her whatever she desired. He knew she was fond of Weston, she cared about him, but she didn't love him, and it was tearing her up inside that he was going to die, alone, and so very far from home. All she wanted to do was stop thinking, to pretend her ability didn't exist, and lose herself in the arms of the man she loved beyond all reason. He wasn't about to disappoint her. She came twice, once as he loved her with his lips and tongue, and once with three of his fingers buried deep inside her.

The bed was high and perfect for him to stand, his hands gripping her hips while she lay flat, using a pillow for lumbar support, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He thrust slow and deep, twisting his hips after he buried himself balls deep in her, relishing her keening wails. His lips curled into a hungry leer and he couldn't decide whether to focus on her half-closed eyes staring back at him, or on her swollen breasts, bouncing as she begged him to go faster, harder, deeper. He snapped his hips, grunting as he neared his own release, fighting to hold back, to allow her to finish first.

Her hands fell to his wrists, gripping them to ground herself, her mouth open though she was eerily silent. Inhaling sharply, her eyes rolled back, her chin tipped toward the ceiling, and she exhaled a deep moan, her nails pressing into his skin as she shuddered violently. He followed shortly after, pulling out of her after he went soft and helped her get settled in bed before collapsing beside her. They snuggled together like spoons and drifted off to sleep.

Just before daybreak, the lovers were awakened by Clea, who whispered urgently that he had to throw something on and follow her to a guest bedroom. The lovers shared a sweet kiss and parted reluctantly. Clea shooed him down the hallway and into a guest room, far from her employer's. She turned down the bed and instructed him to climb in and roll around, to give the bed the impression of being slept in. He did as ordered and stayed prone until she gave him the all clear. As she turned to go to about her duties, he stopped her.

"Clea."

"Yessir?" She turned and faced him, a warm smile on her face. She truly liked him and was heartsick for her childhood friend, having to sneak around like they were.

He rested his hands on her arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Please don't call me sir. Thank you for being such a good friend to us. I know we're putting you in an awful position and believe me when I say I feel guilty about what we're doing to Weston, even if he doesn't know it."

"You ain't gotta thank me for nothin'. Y'all are family, and I'll do what I can to help y'all be together when you can. And I keep the others in line, don't you worry 'bout that none."

"I trust you, Clea," he chuckled. "You know about her, um, what she can do?"

"Knowed since we was kids, sir. I's the one who 'splained it to her, told her ain't no reason to fear it. She got a gift, she learned how to use it, and that's that."

"Did she tell you what she saw about-about Weston?"

"She did. Damn shame too. He a nice man, but he ain't a good match for her. She roll right over him and do what she do."

Shaking his head, he laughed. "There's no doubt in my mind, chere. I only wished to thank you and promise you that no matter what, I'll take care of her."

"I know you will, else you deal with me." She pointed her finger at him in a threatening manner.

"Yes ma'am." He threw up his hands and nodded his head, assuring her he was taking her seriously.

"Now, put you some pants on and get yo ass downstairs. Breakfast be done soon."

"Yes ma'am."

She flashed him a toothy grin and left him alone, closing the door quietly behind her. Picking up his trousers from the bed, he stepped into them and zipped them up. He listened for sounds of her stirring as he got dressed and was as surprised as she was when he opened his door to her, her hand raised to knock.

"Good morning. I was wondering if you would escort me to breakfast? Clea seems certain I'm going to fall down the stairs and break my neck without someone with me at all times."

He shook his head, "She just cares about you, chere. It would break her heart if anything happened to you or the baby."

"I know, I know. It just get irritated with all of the mothering." She linked her arm through his and they set off down the hallway to the large staircase. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Like a baby. How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you. I'm glad the storm didn't keep you awake. It was quite noisy."

"There's something about going to sleep while it's raining that soothes me. I sleep much more soundly."

"I quite agree."

They chatted companionably as the reached the dining room, where Clea, the butler and a maid waited for them. The two each took a plate and began filling it before settling at the table. They sat across from each other, giving all outward appearances of propriety, despite what was really between them. After breakfast, he thanked her profusely for her hospitality and took his leave. Clea was quick to inform him to be very careful because the radio warned that the heavy rains had left some roads flooded and reminded him not to cross if there was water across the road. He gave her a jaunty salute and left.

She received word of Weston's death via telegram. She cried for her husband, but she wasn't devastated by the loss. She tried to reach him for two days to tell him her premonition had come true and she needed to speak with him.

The waters receded on the second day and a '36 Chevy Phaeton was found beneath a bridge, as if it had been parked there when the riverbed was dry. Inside, they found his body, bloated from being submerged for nearly two days, and in his swollen fist, they found a heavy gold locket with photos of the two of them inside it.

When they broke the news, she screamed and didn't stop. Dr Childress was summoned, she was sedated and admitted to the hospital. Two months later, her son was born (six weeks early) and given his name, despite the protests of her family-they felt the child should be named for his father, given the circumstances, not his mother's best friend. Before they could transfer her to a psychiatric hospital, she swallowed a handful of the powerful antipsychotics they had been giving her to keep her calm. She died before being found by a nurse, who wept at the senselessness of it.

She was buried between the love of her life and the man she had called husband. She had convinced him to buy the plot after she and Weston had purchased theirs; she wanted to rest beside him eternally if she couldn't be by his side in life.

Her older brother, George, took her son in and raised him as his own, hiring Clea as the boy's nanny. She told him the truth about his parents when he was old enough to understand, and gave him the locket that was found with his father, making him swear an oath to keep it a secret from everyone to protect them. The boy had always known he was adopted, but never knew the tragic love story behind the death of his mother, the man who everyone believed was his father, and her lover, his real father.

While the adults in the family suspected Clea knew the truth of their relationship and pressured her to reveal the knowledge she possessed, she stood firm and repeated the same line over and over, refusing to speak on the subject beyond a single statement.

"They were the best of friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by Devil's Backbone by the Civil Wars


	6. Colony of Louisiana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a gaping hole in him, an insatiable hunger for...something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First let me say, I'm sorry for being AWOL for so long. I've missed y'all. 
> 
> Second, I did a shit-ton of research for this chapter, so my apologies if it is incorrect or google translator screwed the pooch. And because of the work I put into this, I think everyone should lie to me and kiss my butt when you tell me how fan-fucking-tastic it really is. ;)

He had everything a man could want. A lovely, cultured, sweet woman at his side who loved him beyond all reason, four beautiful children, a thriving law practice, a large home in the Quarter and more money than they could spend in a lifetime. But it wasn't enough. There was a gaping hole in him, an insatiable hunger for...something. He didn't know what, but he knew unless he found it, he would slowly go insane.

In an interesting twist of fate, the "it" in question found him. A woman dressed all in black, and rather provocatively for daywear, strode directly into his office. As she lifted her veil and removed her hat, his clerk came stumbling into the room looking slightly dazed.

"Do not worry," the woman said confidently, her voice deep for a woman's, her accent thick and French, "He be quite all right."

"Jean, please go sit down. I'll see to you in a moment."

"Not necessary, Monsieur, I assure you he recovers. I do not like to employ such methods, but he not allow me in, you see."

"No, I don't see. What could you possibly need to see me for, Madame?"

"I need counsel. Some bouzin threaten to sue me because her husband leave her. That is not fault of mine I say to her again and again, but she not listen. I just read cards, not control destiny!"

"I'm sorry, Madame, but I don't think I will be able to help you," he responded stiffly.

"I read your cards before I come here. You unhappy man, married to beautiful woman who does not stir you, lovely children who want want want, a profession boring to you and money you cannot spend because you hide in work. Believe me now, eh?"

He gaped at her in shock, blinking as he tried to regain his bearings. He had never believed in the Tarot, nor the folk magic brought to Louisiana by the Africans and Haitians, but he couldn't see any way she could have ascertained such intimate facts about his life, not even by listening at the door or bribing servants. Those truths existed only in the privacy of his thoughts and in his heart.

"I see you do." She smirked and took a seat behind his desk, her fingers steepled as she looked at him. "Is fine, people either believe blind or disbelieve total, no half."

"You speak English remarkably."

"My Mama and Papa were Francais, but I'm Creole," she said proudly.

"Were?"

"Oui. They die of plague and I'm left alone."

"Plague?" He stared at her wide-eyed. "As in the Black Plague?"

"Oui, but not that one, silly. Papa work the docks, he bring it to Mama. She send me away when he got sick."

"And you've been alone since?"

"This pretty Creole child make herself useful. She help the esclave and that get her noticed by riche woman who take her in, but it was charity. I was educated properly, but I learn more from bokors and priestesses."

"You practice Vodou?"

"Not in traditional sense."

"Madame, I'm sorry, I would like to assist you, but I cannot get entangled in this. You seem like a nice woman who has had a tough lot in life and the accusation against you is a chance for this woman to save face. You were not the one he left her for, correct?"

"Absolument pas! I let you call me 'Madame' because I hope you take me seriously as client."

"You're unmarried?"

"Oui, Monsieur. And _virginal_."

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"I think you need to know. I was raised to be lady. Like a lady. However you say."

"Ladylike?"

"That is it, oui. Ladylike. No good man want loose woman, n'est pas?"

"You are correct. But, if you were unaware, you might be ordered to submit to a physical exam, to prove your claim of chastity."

"I do not worry, I am saying truth."

"Speaking the truth."

"Excusez-moi. As you can see, I'm learning still every day." She smiled disarmingly, flashing adorably crooked eyeteeth. "So? Please will you be my attorney in this matter?"

He was a good judge of character, often seeing things in other people that most people missed, whether good or ill, and it had served him well in his profession and in his personal life. There was something about her that called out to him, as if her soul beckoned to his, and he could not refuse her. Being honest with himself, he didn't want to refuse her.

"Mademoiselle, I will be honored to represent you. But I will need to know more about what your, er, services entail."

"I read the Cards. Sometimes I make the charms, for love, for health, for luck. I practice the magie blanche only. I no play with Baron Samedi."

"Baron Samedi?"

"Oui, in Vodou he is loa. He is intercessor between living and dead. But to understand is not necessary."

"I would like to, Mademoiselle, but where are my manners? We have not even been properly introduced."

"I am Brigitte Duvalier. And you are Monsieur Elan Marcoullier. Now, we are introduced."

He grinned at her mischievous smile and inclined his head. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Duvalier."

"And yours, Monsieur Marcoullier. Now let us get to the point, oui?"

"Oui."

  
****

  
Her case was settled before it was even filed with the court. With profuse apologies, the scorned wife withdrew all her claims and set the record straight with her friends. And while for any other woman the claims would have ruined her, it only fed Duvalier's notoriety. She became quite sought after for her readings and _magie blanche_  from the colony's poorest citizens to the social elite. What was initially intrigue became a serious belief in her "powers" as she could recite the most intimate thoughts and feelings of anyone who sat across from her. Brigitte became quite a power player and handsomely riche herself.

Beneath the noses of polite (and impolite) society, a truly shocking scandal had been taking place. Tangled together in silk sheets, their mouths were fused tightly together until the need to breathe was paramount. He had her wrists pinned to the mattress beside her head as he slowly drove into her, relishing the way each thrust pushed the breath from her in a soft grunt. Her head was rolled back, exposing her vulnerable throat, her eyes closed tightly and her brow furrowed as she focused on the building pleasure.

"God, I love fucking you," Elan groaned, panting harshly.

"I love it when you fuck me," Brigitte moaned, lifting her head to capture his lips with hers. Tearing her mouth from his as he found a sweet spot, she keened and cried, "More. More!"

"Brig, love, I can't-"

"I'm almost there, it's ok, I'm almost there."

He released her and her hands flew to his back, fingers pressed into his shoulder blades as her legs tightened around his hips. Teeth clenched, straining against her, he filled her with his seed, groaning her name at the exquisite agony of release. Moments later, she cried out, her body rigid beneath his, her thighs gripping him like a vice and her nails leaving scratches down his back as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. He held her tight and whispered his love and devotion in her ear.

"I know you never leave me, Sam. I do more than tell nos chouchous to not leave offerings for you," she threatened darkly.

"I have no doubt of it, ma puce," he chuckled, kissing the top of her head affectionately. "How much longer do we have to live these lives? I am bored out of my goddamn mind!"

"We fit nicely here, have strong roots, true believers. As new world settled, they bring more believers who spread word of us."

"We cannot wait that long. You know these vessels will not hold us much longer."

"I feel guilty for what we do to them when we go."

"I find that hard to believe." He grinned at her cheekily, ignoring the black look she was giving him. "My beloved Maman cares little for the living."

"Neither does my Baron Samedi, but as human you do much good."

"Because I know some day they will come to my fucking door. They all come our way eventually."

"And I do have feeling for ladies."

"Yes, I know. So many of them pray to and make offerings for your blessings."

"You and I will take them when we go, it is only right."

"Of course we will."

"Good. Now, one fuck before you go back to horrible place you call home."

"When will we go?"

"Day after tomorrow. We not go together. Is unkind to ruin them also."

He touched her lovely face and offered a half smile. "You just want to protect your little Brigitte. Not that I blame you, everything about her is lovely."

"Elan also, he is good man. He help me before I make vessel ready to receive you, I owe debt of gratitude," she protested, her dark eyes flashing dangerously.

"If the world knew how truly soft-hearted you are, my love."

"I never get moment of fucking peace!"

"No, you would not. So, let us take our peace where we can get it."

"Did he really love her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did Elan really love Brigitte?"

"Of course he did. Brigitte is also conscious of all things we do, so how does she feel about Elan?"

"She has come to love him as well. It is why I feel such conflict about what we do to them."

"When we ferry their souls, they can be together forever. There is the happy ending you seek."

"I know, but still I feel the guilt."

"What we need is more rum and cigars."

She watched with a grin as he clambered from the bed and crossed the room to her dressing table for the bottle, a cigar and matches. He handed her the bottle, which she uncorked with her teeth and took a drink, as he lit the cigar. Between them, they finished the bottle, smoked the cigar, and made love two more times before he reluctantly rose and dressed. They shared a long kiss goodbye and she walked him to the door in her dressing gown. She watched as he climbed up into his carriage and disappeared down the dirt track they called a street.

Two days.

~end~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lastly, Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte are Death Loas of Vodou/voodoo. They are husband and wife, both known for their use profanity, love of tobacco and liquor, and protection of the dead and cemetaries. The living must go through them to speak with the dead, or to request protection or favor, and an offering must be made to them. They also carry souls to the afterlife. While I find the idea of voodoo fascinating, the mix of African, Haitian and Native American folk magic with Catholicism, I have no opinion of it, good or ill. This is strictly for entertainment purposes. I did take some liberties with these two. I have no idea if they can possess a living person, I didn't come across any such thing in my research, but this is fiction, so I can do what I want to do.
> 
> Addtionally, Creole was the name given to the French and Spanish born on American soil in the colony of Louisiana to distinguish from them from the immigrants of those countries, but also adopted by those of African and mixed European and African descent. Louisiana was quite different in how it viewed African people. There were "free blacks," in addition to those of mixed descent (then called "mulattos"), and they had rights like everyone else. It wasn't until the Louisiana Purchase, when they officially became a state, that they were forced to change their laws and conform with the US Constitution, which viewed black folks as property and without rights. See, I told you I did a shit-ton of research.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars.


End file.
